


Erythema

by makeit_takeit



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rare Pairings, Rare Relationships, Soft Hockey Boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21814384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makeit_takeit/pseuds/makeit_takeit
Summary: EJ laughs and walks away, while Cale’s face burns bright, brilliant red.He meets Ryan’s eyes, just for the briefest nanosecond, before he looks away fast and turns his back, busying himself at the barbell rack.The back of his neck is practically burgundy.Ryan thinks it must suck to have such an obvious tell when you’re embarrassed or flustered. An NHL locker room - or weight room as the case may be - is no place to show weakness; a blush that fast and obvious is like blood in the water to the (mostly good-natured and well meaning) assholes on this team.
Relationships: Ryan Graves/Cale Makar
Comments: 53
Kudos: 451





	Erythema

**Author's Note:**

> Guys. I unexpectedly developed a serious fixation on these two, quite suddenly this week. 
> 
> In the name of being able to focus on the million other things I'm supposed to be writing instead of this, I had to write this. I guess that's just how it goes sometimes?
> 
> I can't pretend to know that much about them so, sorry if I got anything wrong. This is short and sweet and unbeta'd and kind of came out of nowhere, but hope you enjoy!

“Damn,” EJ says, watching Ryan rack the bar after his last set of incline presses, “Gravy got gains _all day_.”

Ryan grins and flexes for effect. He worked hard this summer, and it’s nice to feel like it’s paying off.

EJ is always in for taking a joke too far, so he whistles at Ryan’s posing.

“Hey, easy, don’t scare the kids.”

He puts his hands over Cale’s eyes, presumably to shield him from the threatening sight of Ryan’s terrifying guns.

Cale’s cheeks are pink, as usual, behind EJ’s fingers.

Ryan just snorts and shakes his head, wipes his face with the hem of his t-shirt as he’s rolling up off the incline bench.

When he looks up, bottom of his shirt still pulled up to his chin, EJ has stepped away from Cale, whose eyes are fixed on Ryan’s exposed belly.

“Jesus, Gravy,” EJ says, “how ‘bout also don’t _seduce_ the kids, holy shit.”

EJ laughs and walks away, while Cale’s face burns bright, brilliant red.

He meets Ryan’s eyes, just for the briefest nanosecond, before he looks away fast and turns his back, busying himself at the barbell rack.

The back of his neck is practically burgundy.

Ryan thinks it must suck to have such an obvious tell when you’re embarrassed or flustered. An NHL locker room - or weight room as the case may be - is no place to show weakness; a blush that fast and obvious is like blood in the water to the (mostly good-natured and well meaning) assholes on this team.

Ryan hopes Cale knows EJ was just being his usual shit-stirring self, giving Cale a hard time like that, but he figures, of course Cale knows that. Because if he thought EJ was serious, he’d have to believe EJ was insinuating that he - _Cale Makar_, Hobey Baker winner, fourth overall draft pick and defensive savior of the franchise - could actually be seduced by_ Ryan_.

_Graves_.

Fourth round pick from nowhere, just happy to be here, hoping to find a solid place for himself in the rotation Ryan Graves.

So, yeah. Obviously no one thinks Cale Makar is gonna be seduced by _that_.

_

So, Cale is good. Like, really good. That much was obvious from last season, but the way he’s started this season is like.

He’s like, makes _Ryan_ look good, kind of good.

Like, so good that when the media asks about how good he is, all Ryan can do is agree that he is, in fact, _good_, with a dopey smile on his face.

And look, it’s not that Ryan thinks he himself is _bad_, or anything. He’s been working his ass off, and he knows he deserves the increase in minutes this season. But he also knows at least some of that is down to playing with Cale, with how he makes everyone better and how he keeps.

Well. Cale’s’s just really good at pumping Ryan’s tires, always saying how great he is to play with and talking him up to whoever will listen. 

It’s easy to play well with a partner who’s got your back like that.

It’s starting to feel electric out there, like they’re tuned into each other’s frequency, like they can anticipate each other’s moves. Like they’re two parts of the same machine, wrecking their opponents hopes and dreams one shift at a time.

Ryan’s never felt anything like it on the ice before, and it’s fucking bomb.

He assumes all the other guys feel the same way about playing with Cale. There’s just something _about_ him.

-

The guys make jokes, of course, because that’s just how it is. Just the usual stuff, about Cale and Ryan and their mutual admiration society, about how sweet it is that they’re so in love, about how they should get a room.

Ryan knows they’re just jokes, obviously, and he doesn’t mind for his own sake, but he feels a little bad at how much it all makes Cale’s face flush that deep, hot crimson. Of course that only makes it worse, makes the guys hoot and cat call and try to needle a little deeper, until Cale looks so awkward and uncomfortable that Ryan feels compelled to insert himself into the mix somehow, just to take the heat off Cale.

When Ryan finally pipes up one day, when somebody asks if they’ve set a date for the wedding yet, with _Hey, I should be so lucky, eh? But you know Cale’s out of my league, bud, c’mon_ the room erupts with laughter and the teasing goes a different way, all about Ryan’s unrequited crush and how tragic is it.

Ryan laughs along, and Cale shoots Ryan a look from under his lashes that makes Ryan’s stomach feel all warm, so Ryan keeps on doing it.

Every time that line of shit talking comes around, every time one of the boys makes some dumb innuendo about Ryan putting _extra sugar_ in Cale’s coffee, or teases them about what great _partners_ they are with a lecherous eyebrow wiggle, Ryan throws out some joke about his hopeless one-sided love.

_I’ve tried everything I can think of, boys, he’s just not into it. My loss._

It’s stupid, but it gets the job done.

-

It’s not like Ryan expects the wheels to come flying off just because Cale gets hurt, or anything – he has more confidence in himself and his teammates than _that_. As long as Nate Dogg is still up and running, Ryan’s always gonna believe they’ve got a fighting chance on any given night.

It’s just that he thinks, probably, that it will be a lot harder than it actually ends up being.

They struggle a little with Calgary, end up losing in OT, but they bounce right back and pick up two more wins, run the points streak out to 9 games. Ryan feels like he’s riding a wrecking ball with this team, like nothing can stop them, even if they have to do it without Cale for a few games. It feels fucking phenomenal.

Ryan hasn’t seen a lot of him since he’s been hurt, Cale’s been busy resting and rehabbing, getting treatment and working out alone, but when Cale comes out with them after the Minnesota win, you can tell the boys are all happy to have him back in the fold. Everyone’s paying special attention to him, buying him drinks and ruffling his hair. They all know how hard it is to be hurt and feel isolated from the team, even for a little while, but especially for a rookie.

Ryan watches from a few meters away as Cale turns a pale, pretty pink. And it’s not that Ryan likes to look too closely at why, but he knows Cale well enough by now and he pays close enough attention, so he can recognize the specific cause of it when Cale’s face goes all red. Ryan couldn’t say exactly _how_ he can tell; something about the pattern of the coloring and the precise hue, and something else intangible that he can’t really explain even to himself, kind of like how he can’t explain how to tell his twin cousins apart. Ryan just can, and most people can’t, and it’s just like, a sense that he has.

That same kind of sense tells him when Cale’s face is red because of exertion, or anger, or pain, or embarrassment, or cold, or hot, or alcohol. Or sometimes, like now, it’s just because he’s pleased and happy. It makes Ryan smile, just looking at him.

“Nobody’s happier than Gravy to have you back,” Landy elbows Ryan while he’s talking to Cale, and all the eyes of his teammates suddenly turn on Ryan. "Look at those heart eyes.”

“Aw man, I thought I was playing it cool.” Ryan ducks his head, and shrugs, playing it up for the boys, and everybody laughs on cue. 

“Hey, hey, scooch over,” EJ’s shoving people now, making space next to Cale in the little cluster of teammates that have been surrounding him, doting on him all night. “Gravy, get in here, come get your man.”

Gravy slides over gamely, grinning, but Cale’s face is transitioning from his rosy, all over Pleased-and-Happy Pink to bright splotches of Embarrassed Fuchsia. Ryan hates to see it.

“Only in my dreams, buddy, you know that,” Ryan throws back at EJ, and the boys all laugh, some more.

When you get right down to it, they’re nothing if not predictable.

-

Talk moves on, and focus shifts back away from them, but when Ryan looks down at Cale, his face still splotchy, and what’s worse, it’s moved down his neck, which is downright Magenta. That can only mean one thing – Cale is pissed.

“Hey, you know they’re just kidding, right?” Ryan ducks down to knock his shoulder into Cale’s, slings an arm around his neck with a grin. “They don’t mean anything by it, I promise.”

“No, I know,” Cale says, but he still looks frustrated at a minimum, his words clipped and a little huffy.

Ryan wishes he didn’t find it as cute as he does.

“It’s just. Just. Forget it.”

He turns his face away from Ryan, jaw clenched. Ryan’s chest clenches in response.

“You feeling okay?” He leans down closer so he can ask it softly, right into Cale’s ear. He resists the urge to put his hand to Cale’s forehead like a worried mother hen.

“I’m _fine_,” Cale huffs, completely unconvincing. 

Ryan watches him chew on his lip for a few seconds, then tries again.

“It’s cool if you’re ready to go. Hey, I’ll get an Uber with you if you want, yeah?”

They’ve shared a ride plenty of times before; their places aren’t that far apart, so depending on the starting point, they’re usually heading in the same direction on the way home.

But Cale doesn’t seem to love that idea, either. He just sighs and shrugs, shoulders sagging, and nods.

“Yeah, whatever. That’s fine.”

It definitely doesn’t seem fine, but Ryan can’t really figure out why. He’s trying his best, here, trying to fix what’s wrong, to get that alarming, angry purple-pink to fade from Cale’s neck. Trying to bring back that soft, pretty pink that means Cale’s feeling good and everything really_ is_ fine, but.

It doesn’t seem like it’s happening, so. He’s not really sure what else he can do, so he pulls out his phone and orders the Uber.

-

“Lovebirds are leaving early,” Nate says from behind them, when they start to make moves for the door. “That should be a fine or something!”

Ryan cringes inwardly, hoping maybe Cale didn’t hear.

“You better treat him right, Gravy!” Z’s booming voice is too loud to be missed by like, anyone with ears. “Show our boy a good time!”

“If he’d only give me a chance, buddy,” Ryan tosses back, along with a little wave. He pushes the door open for Cale, who practically stomps past him, out into the cold December night.

His whole face is blazing in an instant, like _whoa_, that dark angry purple going even deeper, more lurid somehow. Ryan’s chest just keeps feeling tighter and tighter, like he can’t catch his breath. He reaches out instinctively for Cale’s shoulder, but the Uber pulls up right then.

He follows Cale into the back seat, and tells the driver they can drop him first, since his place is closest.

The silence in the backseat is deafening.

Ryan’s not great with tension in general, but especially not when it’s directed at him. He tries to make people around him happy, it’s kind of his _thing_, and the fact that he’s failing so miserably right now with one of his favorite people -.

Or, like. Maybe, probably his favorite _person_. 

Well. Ryan is definitely not loving this vibe, like, _at all_.

“It’s just,” Cale says suddenly, like they were already in the middle of a conversation. “Why do you always do that, you know?”

Ryan doesn’t know.

Cale’s eyes are still focused out the window on his side of the car, not looking at Ryan.

“Sorry, just. Um. Why do I do _what_?”

Cale sighs.

“You know, that thing where like. One of the boys makes a joke about us being – _you know_. And you do that thing where you like – whatever. Pretend like you’re into it, or something, like _I’m the one_ who doesn’t - . Just. You can stop, okay? It’s fucking embarrassing.”

Ryan feels a little like he’s been kicked in the stomach. The last thing he wants is to embarrass Cale, who he’s been trying to, whatever – _protect_, or something. And, once again, apparently failing miserably.

“Shit,” he says under his breath, to himself more than anything. He puts a hand on Cale’s knee, he hopes reassuringly.

“I’m really sorry, bud, I thought I was helping. You know, trying to bring the heat on myself so they’ll leave you alone? I didn’t mean to make it _worse_, God.”

Cale signs again, but the color in his face has receded considerably, and Ryan can breathe a little deeper, so at least that’s something.

“I know,” he says, quiet. He’s still not looking at Ryan, but he’s just looking down now, at his hands in his lap. “I know what you’re trying to do and it’s really. It’s nice of you, Gravy, it’s really. You’ve always been really chill about the whole thing, it’s just. Like, we all know I’m the one with the crush, and you pretending not to know feels, like. Patronizing, or something?”

Ryan’s hand tightens reflexively around Cale’s knee, because.

“I’m sorry, we all know -. What, now?”

Cale finally looks at him, chin down and eyes raised to Ryan’s face from under the fan of his lashes, which is just. It’s a lot, even with the dim light in the backseat, and Ryan suddenly can’t breathe again.

“I mean, I can’t hide how I feel for shit, I know that; my poker face is like, non-existent. None of this is your fault, and I mean, I could definitely shut up about you and stop making it _worse_, I mean _Jesus_.”

He scrubs his hands over his face and shakes his head.

“I know I’m bringing some of it on myself,” he mumbles from behind his hands, “and I’ll get over it, I will, I just. I think if you could maybe just ignore it instead of, whatever. Pretending not to _get it_. I’d feel less pathetic.”

He shrugs again, puts his hands back in his lap and focuses on them intently.

“Sorry,” he finishes quietly, and Ryan just.

He slides his hand up from Cale’s knee and wraps it around the clasped, white-knuckled knot of Cale’s fingers where they’re wound together.

“You, uh. You have a crush on me?”

Ryan leans in close, suddenly very aware of the driver in the front seat, very careful not to speak too loudly just because he can barely hear himself over the drumbeat of his own heart in his ears.

Cale cuts his eyes up to Ryan’s face, narrowed and suspicious and hurt, maybe, like he thinks Ryan is really – _would _really – tease him about something like that.

“Because if you - . I mean,” Ryan hurries on, just as low and quiet, “if that’s true it’s definitely news to me, because.”

He swallows hard as the look on Cale’s face goes from suspicious to curious.

“Because I thought. I mean, I thought we all knew_ I_ was the one with the crush.”

The car slows to a stop in front of Ryan’s building, and the look on Cale’s face slides from curious straight into open-mouthed realization.

His tongue dips out to wet his lower lip, and his brow wrinkles adorably. Two bright new spots of color appear directly on the apples of his cheeks.

“Wait,” he says, and shakes his head just a little. “So you?”

Ryan grins, then laughs, can’t help it.

“Want to come in?” He says, and then Cale’s laughing, too, following him out of the car.

-

As soon as Ryan’s door closes behind them, Cale’s got him bodied up against it.

“You’re not messing with me?” He asks, and Ryan laughs again. He feels stupidly giddy.

“Like I would?” He says, as his hand settles on Cale’s hip, fingers finding a convenient belt loop to tug him in closer. “Are you sure you’re not messing with _me_?”

Cale lets out a laugh of his own, something akin to a scoff.

“Have you looked in a mirror lately, bud?” he asks, eyebrow raised. “Why would someone _not_ want to get with you?”

“Really into blondes?” Ryan suggests. “Not into guys? Too tall? Too pale?”

Cale laughs again, softer and more fond this time.

“None of those are a problem for me.”

His arms sneak around, sliding into the small space that’s left between Ryan’s lower back and the cold metal of his front door. Cale leans in further, so they’re chest to chest.

He’s not a small guy by any means, but up this close he’s got to crane his head back a little to look Ryan in the eyes, and Ryan is - .

Yeah, he’s into it.

“What about,” he says, feeling extremely lame for it but still feeling like, he just has to _check_. Because all along he’s been thinking all the jokes and teasing are ridiculous, the very idea totally preposterous because.

Well, because.

“What about, if someone was really good at hockey, like. I mean _really _good, like Hobey Baker winning, Calder Trophy favorite kinda good, and. And maybe they’d want someone more, like. _On their level_. Or whatever.”

He swallows hard.

“That could be a reason, probably. Potentially. That someone would, like. Not want to get with me.”

He wants to cringe, because God, if Cale hasn’t figured that out for himself yet, now is a really, really stupid time for Ryan to be pointing it out.

“You’re leading the league in plus-minus, Gravy.”

Cale stares up at him, blue eyes wide and earnest.

“Yeah, but that’s because - .” Ryan tries, but Cale cuts him off.

“You’re my favorite person to play with. Like, ever. So.”

“Oh,” Ryan says.

“Yeah,” Cale agrees. “_Oh_.”

Ryan feels a sudden rush of _something_, this soft, fond thing rolling through his core and settling hot in his belly. He tugs again on Cale’s belt loop, even though there’s nowhere else for him to go, no way for him to get closer to Ryan than he already is, then Ryan’s other hand is doing something embarrassingly close to _caressing_ Cale’s cheek, thumb tracing over the high, bright spot of red on his cheekbone and leaning in, and.

Cale kind of whimpers, when their mouths meet, which Ryan takes as an encouraging sign.

It’s not tentative, exactly, but it’s not aggressive either, just careful and gentle and _God_, Ryan can already tell he’s in big trouble, if there’d ever been any doubt.

“You want to go to the bedroom?” He asks, soft against Cale’s mouth, and Cale nods, buries his face in Ryan’s chest and breathes _God, yeah._

Ryan reaches back to unwind one of Cale’s arms from around his back, laces their fingers together, then kisses him again, quick on the corner of his mouth.

“Whatever you want,” he says, and levers himself away from the door, ready to lead the way. Cale’s fingers squeeze tight around Ryan’s as he follows him through the apartment.

-

In his room, Ryan sheds his coat and hat and scarf, drops them onto the chair in the corner and watches Cale follow suit. He kicks his shoes up against the closet door and Cale does the same.

Ryan reaches out, snags his fingers into the bottom of Cale’s sweater and drags him closer. Once he gets him over next to the bed, Ryan tugs up and Cale raises his arms automatically. It’s not until Ryan’s dragged the thing halfway off of him that Ryan remembers.

“Oh shit, sorry,” he hisses, “I forgot about your - .”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Cale assures him, struggling the rest of the way to freedom. “I’m mostly better at this point, anyway,” he insists, the flush of exertion creeping along his neck and down to his chest.

His bare chest, which is right next to Ryan’s bed. So, right. Ryan rips his own shirt off fast, drops it on the carpet next to Cale’s.

“Jesus,” Cale says, and runs a tentative hand over Ryan’s belly. “You’re so.”

He doesn’t finish the thought, but the way his eyes are following the path of his own fingers as they trace the lines of Ryan’s abdomen, Ryan feels pretty okay with it.

“Yeah?” Ryan asks, and Cale tears his eyes away, up to meet Ryan’s.

“For sure,” he nods, and Ryan grins.

“Good,” he says, as his hands go to work on Cale’s belt, “You, too.”

Cale’s grin spreads across his whole face.

_

When they’re finally rid of all their clothes, finally laid out on Ryan’s bed, Ryan on his back and Cale draped all over him, wrapped up in Ryan’s fluffy comforter and kissing deep and slow, feeling their way, hands moving over each other’s bodies a little at a time, learning the landscape inch by inch as they shift and move against each other, Ryan doesn’t have much blood left in his brain for thinking clearly, but some things don’t require much in the way of brainpower.

“You want to fuck me?” he pants against Cale’s throat, and Cale groans.

“Jesus, uh. I mean, If you’re into - .”

“I am,” Ryan interrupts, smoothing Cale’s bangs back off his forehead and grinning at the flushed, glassy-eyed face above his. “I’m super into it, in general, and definitely with you. Specifically.”

“Oh,” Cale says.

“Exactly,” Ryan agrees, and shimmies out from under Cale far enough so he can reach the drawer of his nightstand.

When he hands the condom and lube over, Cale looks down at them like these are items he doesn’t recognize.

“Have you, before? With a guy?” Ryan’s just checking, because he knows first hand it’s not always easy to navigate hooking up with guys when you’re in their line of work, knows how limited the opportunities can feel when you’re constantly watching your back, worried about what someone might see, or what someone might think - but Cale rolls his eyes.

“_Yes_,” he confirms, like the very question itself is insulting, but then he finishes with a sheepish, “I mean, like. A few times.”

“No worries,” Ryan assures him, and rolls back onto his back, Cale and his condom and his bottle of lube settled in between his thighs. “I’ll talk you through it.”

Cale is a natural, of course, like Ryan expected anything less. He follows Ryan’s instructions like a champ, uses just the right amount of lube and just the right amount of pressure, finds just the right spot to make Ryan’s eyes roll back, make his legs twitch and his abs clench.

“Shit,” Cale breathes, and rubs his fingers over that spot again, knuckles crooked just so to make Ryan jerk and twitch some more. He does it again, and again, until Ryan’s cock is drooling all over his stomach and he’s making noises that sound like he’s in pain, although he’s really, very much _not_.

“You’re killin’ me, bud,” he pants finally, head thrown back on the pillow, “Come on, want you in me.”

“Yeah,” Cale says, voice thick and low and reverent, “it’s just. You’re really. I mean, watching you is like. Fuck.”

Ryan’s eyes flutter open, and the look on Cale’s face is.

God, he just. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was shit at hiding how he feels.

“You can watch me all you want,” Ryan grins, “just fuck me while you’re doing it, eh?”

Cale licks his lips and nods, and reaches for the condom.

_

It’s an easy slide, after all the work Cale put in on the front end. One long push and he’s all the way inside, Ryan’s knees pulled up around his ribs, Ryan’s hands in his hair.

“Thought about this so much,” Cale pants, “wanted this so bad,” and Ryan can’t breathe for reasons unrelated to physical exertion.

“Never thought about it,” Ryan manages to get out, choked and short of breath, “never thought I’d have a shot.”

“You’re an idiot,” Cale murmurs right against his ear, all slick lips and warm damp breath, and Ryan shivers under him, bucks his hips up for more.

He’d be happy, more than, with quick and dirty, but no matter how many times Ryan groans impatiently and digs his heel into Cale’s ass, the man will not be rushed.

Ryan can see the concentration on his face, brow furrowed and top teeth dug into his bottom lip, his one good arm trembling under the strain of holding himself up enough to get a good grip on Ryan’s cock with the other, stroking him firmly in smooth, perfect counter-point to the thrusting of his hips.

It’s a slow build, but it gets Ryan there, eventually; he comes with a groan and a curse, hands pulling Cale’s mouth down to kiss him through it.

Just as Ryan’s cock gives one final, heroic kick, Cale takes his hand away and collapses onto Ryan’s chest, face buried in his throat as he ruts mindlessly, the careful cadence of his earlier rhythm nowhere to be found.

“Yeah, come on,” Ryan encourages with a grin, digging his fingers into Cale’s ass and pulling him in, as deep as he can get him. “You’re so good, babe, come on, let it go.”

Cale lets out a hurt little yelp against Ryan’s shoulder, and jerks, and comes. When he finally lifts himself up again to look at Ryan, he’s got the familiar full-face flush of exertion, along with a new pattern of patchy, rosy-red all along his chest and further down his abdomen, too.

That’s a new development on Ryan's Cale Makar Color-Meter - one he smugly notes, for his future personal reference, as the color configuration that indicates sexual satisfaction.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://makeit-takeit.tumblr.com/), if you're into that kind of thing!


End file.
